Sport 36: Winter 2008
These days are hot. The grass browns,
Wastes, the sun hurts on the skin, burns
At the flesh, my children cover up
To go out, the thin earth shrivels, dies.
What's there to praise in the outdoors
Now? Who would choose to eulogise
Nature—ours or this? Instead the sweat
Beads on the forehead, the brain stinks.
What's there to do? Change our habits,
Install air conditioning, call the kids in—
The practicals take care of themselves.
It's the ideas of life that are perishing.